


Detention

by midnight12181



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-03
Updated: 2011-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-24 06:31:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnight12181/pseuds/midnight12181
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AC Kink Meme. Based on this image: http://shaunhastings.tumblr.com/post/7529450817 . Desmond gets detention for doodling on his desk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Detention

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Detention  
> Fandom: Assassin's Creed  
> Author: Sprink  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply. Desmond Miles, Shawn Hastings, Lucy Stillman, and Rebecca Crane are owned and operated by Ubisoft.  
> Warnings: Man on Man action

Mr. Hastings was the senior world history teacher. He was a pretty young teacher, which usually meant he was a pretty cool teacher.

“Mr. Miles, could you please tell me, exactly, what happened during the Second Siege of Constantinople?”

Except that he was a complete and total dick.

“Uh, they lost?” I answered, glancing up from my notes with a hopeful smile.

“Yes, Mr. Miles, Maslamah ibn Abd al-Malik lost. Now if you would be so kind as to pay attention instead of disrupting my class, perhaps you would know why.”

I tried to keep the grumble to myself, but Mr. Hastings obviously heard it by the raised eyebrow I got. Dammit. This was the last required class I needed to graduate next month, and if I didn't get a passing grade I wouldn't be able to walk with my friends at graduation. Nevermind the fact that Mr. Hastings was notoriously strict when it came to his grading scale. I couldn't help the sigh that slipped out as I set my pen against my notebook, trying to concentrate.

I didn't notice just how quiet the class was until I heard a rather close whisper in my ear.

“One more outburst, Mr. Miles, and I won't hesitate to keep you after school.”

I jumped, back straightening at I felt the teacher's breath across the shell of my ear. Dammit, dammit, dammit. And the whole class was laughing, including that cute blonde two rows over. This had to be a new record; yelled at by Mr. Hastings within the first ten minutes of class. This was going to be a long day.

As Mr. Hastings droned on about Arabs attacking Turks, I just couldn't focus anymore. At least I wasn't the center of his attention anymore, so I let my mind wander. Unfortunately, as my mind wandered, usually so did my hands. I couldn't get that one song out of my head – the one about Istanbul not being Constantinople or something like that – and when I heard a throat clearing to my right.

“I highly doubt ducks and pigs wore fezzes or rode camels in Turkey.”

My eyes traveled to where my hand was, and I couldn't repress the flinch as I noticed I was not, in fact, doodling in my notebook. Nope. There, in stark black ink, was an image of a cartoon duck and a cartoon pig on a cartoon camel with fucking Shriner hats on. Fuck.

“After class, Mr. Miles.” Mr. Hastings said with finality. “And what the Byzantine people decide to call their capitol city is, as you have so eloquently put it, 'nobody's business but the Turks.'”

\-----

As the bell rang, I looked up to see everyone else get up and shuffle towards the door. The cute blonde looked over at me again, her face set in what looked like apology. What did she have to apologize for? I was the idiot who couldn't keep my damn mouth shut. Rebecca's waving arm caught my attention, her hands motioning that she would call me later, probably to hear me rant about just how much of a tyrant Mr. Hastings was. I nodded at her and turned my attention to the teacher sitting at the desk at the front of the room.

If I was honest with myself, he wasn't an unattractive man. And it wasn't like I wasn't exactly into dudes, I was just way more into chicks. Chicks had things like soft curves, soft lips, and tits. Mostly it was the tits. Like the ones that blonde had; what was her name? Lucy. Yeah. Lucy had fucking Tits with a capitol T.

Mr. Hastings, though, did not have tits with a capitol anything.

He dressed pretty plainly, a white, short-sleeved button up shirt with a red tie and dark brown slacks. His hair was kind of spiked up and messy, like that metrosexual style or whatever it was called. His wire-rimmed glasses sat perched on his nose, and as I noticed that, he looked up from his desk to stare right at me.

“You will clean that doodle off your desk, Mr. Miles, and then you will write on the board 'I will not doodle on desks.' one hundred times before you may leave.”

“What?” I shot back. “Look, I'll clean up the mess I made, but I'm not in grade school. I don't need to copy something on the board a hundred times just to remember it.”

Mr. Hastings raised an eyebrow. “If you are going to do something so juvenile, then you will receive an appropriately juvenile punishment. Might I suggest that you start working. I do not want to be baby-sitting you all night, Desmond.”

I was torn. I wanted to shoot back another complaint, but the way Mr. Hastings said 'Desmond' instead of 'Mr. Miles' made my face heat up. I dropped my gaze, walking to the front of the class to pick up the bottle of cleaning solution and a rag the teacher obviously set on his desk for me to use.

I kept my back to Mr. Hastings as I scrubbed at the ink on my desk. It was weird; the teacher never used anyone's first name. It was always 'Mr. Miles' or 'Ms. Crane,' but never 'Desmond.' I turned my head, looking over my shoulder him as if he would answer my mental question. Instead, Mr. Hastings was staring, pretty obviously, at my ass.

Wait, what?

I instantly snapped my head back forward, looking down at the half-cleaned drawing from earlier in class. I could feel my cheeks heat again, and I couldn't get that look on my history teacher's face out of my head. It was... his eyes were... and pink cheeks... and...

I shifted my weight a little and heard a sharp intake of air from behind me. I whipped my head towards the sound, only to see Mr. Hastings drop his eyes back down to the papers on his desk. He _was_ checking me out! Holy shit. I was getting checked out by the history teacher with the stick up his ass. I returned to scrubbing a little harder; at least I was almost done cleaning the desk.

“So, uh, I'm not keeping you from a hot date tonight, am I?” I asked, going to my usual way of talking through discomfort.

“Yes, Desmond, I have a date with a microwave dinner and a hot cup of tea. The absolute pinnacle of excitement.”

“Oh.”

It was the way he kept saying my name like that. It was... well, if I was being honest with myself, it was making my goddamn pants pretty uncomfortable. I sighed, going back to scrubbing. However, I could still hear Mr. Hastings breathing behind me, and it wasn't helping when it came to willing my erection away.

“There's no Mrs. Hastings?” I asked, hoping that hearing the man was happily married would get my hormones to take a hike.

“No. “ Wow, did he answer that one quickly. “And if you insist upon continuing this mindless prattle, I'm going to add 'I will not make my instructor gag me.' to your list of things to write on the board.”

Did he just...? Oh my god. Oh my god. I knew my eyes were wide when I looked back at Mr. Hastings again, and that look what back in his eyes. Did it ever leave? Fuck me.

“Excuse me?”

Oh shit. Did I just say that out loud? I was pretty confident that I had a very deer in headlights look on my face, but I couldn't help it. Shit, shit, shit.

“Board, Desmond. Now.”

Son of a fucking bitch in heat. My face was roughly the color of a tomato as I quickly stepped towards the board. I kept my back to him, afraid I was hearing things in his voice that weren't there. I could very well be imagining the heat in his voice, or mistaking sexual tension for just plain crankiness. If that was the case, the bulge in the front of my pants was totally uncalled for and would probably get me suspended or expelled or something.

But I saw it. That heat. I heard him fucking gasp when I wiggled my ass at him, and the tips of his ears were as pink as mine were. I _wasn't_ mistaking it, right? I mean, the barely held control when I accidentally said 'fuck me' was as real as the tattoo on my forearm.

I stared at the piece of chalk left in the board's tray as images passed through my head. Since my teenage brain decided to let the whole 'fuck me' thing take off running, all I could think about was being bent over Mr. Hastings desk, the teacher behind me. Would he be gentle? Or would he just take what he wanted and damn the consequences? Would he be the friendly reach around kind of guy, or would I be expected to take care of myself? Would he suck my cock as he stretched me, or would he make me fingerfuck myself?

“Desmond.”

I couldn't stop the gasp that left my lips as I heard Mr. Hastings' bedroom voice ghost along the shell of my ear. It took me three tries to get enough spit in my mouth to respond.

“Yeah?”

“Start writing.”

“Yes, sir.”

I picked up the chalk, raising it to the board. What the hell was I supposed to write again? _I will not doodle on desks._ There. Hormones be damned. One down, ninety-nine to go. I started the second 'I' when I felt a pair of lips on the back of my neck.

“Keep going.”

\-----

Mr. Hastings whispered in my ear, and I totally couldn't stop the shudder that passed through me. The 'will' left a lot to be desired, but apparently there was a lot of my skin that was desired. I paused in my writing to let him unbutton most of my shirt. My left hand hung limp as the shirt fell off my shoulder. The only thing keeping it from falling open completely were the two buttons he left fastened at the bottom of my shirt. Oh, and Mr. Hastings pressed against my back.

The 'not' was even worse than the 'will' as I felt Mr. Hastings' fingers move further down to unfasten my jeans. While I wore my pants loose, they weren't so loose that they would hit the ground the second they weren't being actively held up by my non-hips. I gasped as I felt teeth along the junction between shoulder and neck, nearly dropping the chalk in my hand.

“The next word is 'doodle,'” Mr. Hastings helpfully supplied, and I could feel his smirk along my hairline at the back of my neck.

I must have stood there, trying to take a full breath for too long for his liking. He shifted a knee between my thighs, and I could feel-- _holy shit!_ That... that was his... his... he was just as into this as I was. Maybe more so. The 'doodle on' was hastily written on the board as I moaned and pressed backwards against that hardness. Jesus fucking Christ on a fucking polar bear. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening. I was going to wake up in the middle of class and have to deal with dried jizz on my junk for the rest of the day.

Yeah. Sure. That scribble I wrote on the board totally looked like 'desks.' Totally. As much as a word can look like 'desks' when your hot as hell history teacher had his rock hard cock pressing against your ass.

The 'I' of the next sentence may or may not have looked like a 'T,' but the way he was grinding against my ass like he would fuck me through my fucking jeans was just...

“You are hardly finished with that sentence, Desmond,” Mr. Hastings whispered into my ear, and holy fuck if I wasn't going to finish stupid quick if he kept doing that.

“It's kinda hard...” I started, and I nearly choked on my words as I felt his hand slide into my boxers.

“That it is.”

My brain took a moment to remind me just what the fuck was going on. I was writing sentences on the blackboard after school. My history teacher, who I would swear on any other day hated me to the point of making my senior year miserable, was pressed up against my ass, his cock hard enough to probably rip both his dress pants and my jeans. My shirt was hanging off my shoulders, and he was kissing my neck like it was his equivalent to breathing. Yeah. Just wanted to make sure I was getting all of this. Thanks, brain.

\-----

I felt his right hand grip my hips, stifling my desire to thrust into his left hand before the thought even crossed my mind. Mr. Hastings was good. He was fucking good. So fucking good.

“Am I now?” I heard him growl against the skin at the back of my neck. Did I say that last part out loud? Again?

“Fuck,” I groaned, gripping the chalk still in my hand tightly. I needed to brace myself against something, anything before I collapsed. Without thinking, I pressed the chalk-hand to the board, and couldn't help the small jump as I heard it snap.

“Not here, not now,” he breathed, his tongue flicking out to lick at the sweat that was gathering just under my hairline as I felt him grinding hard and kind of erratically against my jeans-clad ass.

Was that...? Was he trying to tell me that this could be more than a one time thing? Was I dreaming? Holy fucking shit in a flaming bag on a doorstep. Desmond fucking Miles was going to get laid... eventually.

And that thought was really all it took to get me groaning again. Seriously, there were no words. I had absolutely no words for how fucking amazing it felt to be jerked off against a fucking blackboard by the hottest teacher in school. His thrusts against my ass were pushing me harder into his grip, and I couldn't even really control the pace if I wanted to.

I didn't know how much time passed until I heard something other than panting and groaning against my neck. And those two words whispered through obviously gritting teeth were all it took for me.

“Ah, _Desmond_.”

I tried to bite back the loud sound as I felt a heat spread across my ass, Mr. Hastings grinding forward with some sort of British obscenity that I didn't catch breathed onto my skin. And there it was. My vision blacked out a little as I painted the bottom of the blackboard. I felt my knees waver a little, but a tightening grip on my hip brought me back to myself enough to lock my knees. We stood there for a moment before I felt him tuck my shit back into my pants.

“Well, then,” he said, pulling away to look at some of my spunk that had gotten on his hand.

“Yeah,” I replied intelligently as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped off his hand.

“You're free to go, Mr. Miles,” he said, turning to walk back towards his desk.

 _What?_ That was it? I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm not like some kind of crazy cuddler or something, but...

“So that's it?” I couldn't keep it in.

He sat down at his desk, pulling a card from a drawer as he opened his record book. “Were you aware, Mr. Miles, that you are just barely passing my class?” What? How the hell does that matter when he totally just jerked me off against the fucking blackboard? “I believe you may benefit from additional assistance.” Maybe it was the post-fucking euphoria getting in the way, but what the fuck? “Here is the number for a tutor. I suggest you give him a call to schedule something.”

My surprise morphed into a frown as I snatched the card from his hand. With a look that I hoped was more angry than hurt, I looked at the card in my hand. I looked back up at Mr. Hastings, then back down again at the card.

 _Shawn Hastings, Ph.D.  
Professional History Tutor  
555.1212_

Oh. Well, shit. Don't I feel like a complete dick?

“I'm sure I'll be hearing from you soon, _Desmond_.” The grin on his face made my dick twitch.

“Yeah,” I replied, mind racing. It was too much to process at once, especially with my dick deciding to let me know that he was totally interested in going again, just from the way Mr. Hastings said my fucking name. I quickly grabbed my backpack and opened the classroom door, looking back over my shoulder. “I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Hastings.”

“Tomorrow, Mr. Miles. And please make sure you're on time. I wouldn't want detention to become a habit of yours.” There was a knowing smile on his face and I couldn't help but stare.

“On time. Got it,” I replied with a returning smile, ducking through the doorway and closing the door behind me. As I walked down the hallway, I wondered just how many detentions you could get and still be allowed to graduate.


End file.
